Is It Written In the Stars?
by altenprano
Summary: Tom tells Sybil that they should stop seeing each other, but some things are meant to be, regardless of what society dictates. Though only time can tell if their love is something that is meant to be, not just a brief moment of paradise for the chauffeur and the lady.
1. Chapter 1

"Tom?"

There she was, standing in the entrance to the garage, lovely as ever in her dark grey nurse's uniform, her headscarf clutched in her hand at her side. Her presence seemed to brighten up the space, and Tom felt his heart quicken in excitement.

No.

No, it wasn't with excitement that his heart was racing. It was racing with fear, breaking into a dangerously fast gait because he was afraid of what he was about to do.

_You know you have to do it, _he reminded himself, watching as she drew nearer to him, and when she was within arm's length, he drew her into a gentle embrace. _For her sake as much as yours. _

"Your note said you wanted to see me as soon as possible," she said, tucking her head beneath his chin, a gesture of such intimacy that Tom wanted to tell her that he loved her, that he was simply worried for her and how hard she was working- but he couldn't. He needed to tell her why he'd asked for her, the true reason, no matter how horrible it was.

He took a deep breath, wondering if she could sense his apprehension. _Forgive me, Sybil. Please, please forgive me for what I'm about to do. _

It was the right thing to do, or at least that's what he kept telling himself. If he loved Sybil, he would give her the happiness she deserved, which didn't involve him. She was the daughter of an earl, for God's sake, a lady, and who was he the son of? Not an earl, that's for sure. It wasn't meant to be, it was never meant to be.

"Tom, is everything alright?"

She looked up at him, her brows drawn tight together in concern, her head inclined to the side like Isis did sometimes. Her eyes were fixed on him, easily the oldest thing on her face. So old and wise, and yet so hopeful, so trusting.

She trusted him not to break her heart, and here he was, about to do what she least expected.

"No," he answered, shaking his head. He could already feel the numbness spreading throughout his body, creating a feeling of isolation, as if someone had dropped a veil between him and the young woman he held in his arms.

"Tom, what's wrong?"

He could hear her confusion giving way to deeper confusion tinged with worry, and he wanted to make something up, anything to spare her the heartache he was about to cause her. He wanted to hold her tighter to his body and promise that he would fight for her, for them.

But he didn't.

He couldn't, not when he'd already given up, not on the idea of them, exactly, but on the possibility of it ever happening. In another time, perhaps, but not now, and most certainly not here.

"Tom?"

Damn Lady Sybil and her trusting, hopeful eyes! Damn them for making him second-guess himself when he had been so sure in his decision! Damn him for letting them become his weakness! Damn him for falling in love with her in the first place!

"We can't see each other anymore, m'lady," he said, each word coming out clearly, his tone cold and painfully flat.

She blinked, her brows making deeper furrows, and he wanted to stop her and warn her that such an expression would cause her lovely forehead to wrinkle prematurely.

But he didn't.

Instead he eased himself out of her embrace, an easy task, considering he was much larger than she, and she wasn't expecting the gentle force he used to pry her arms from around his shoulders. He took a step back too, to finalize their separation.

They weren't lovers anymore.

They were as they'd been before the war: the daughter of an English earl, and an Irish chauffeur with far too many dreams for the future.

They were Lady Sybil Crawley, and Mr. Branson- nothing more.

"I don't understand."

Oh, what he wouldn't give to be as innocent of the world as she appeared now! But no, that was not how the world worked, not his, anyways. In her world, the ivory tower that was Downton Abbey, yes, she was allowed to not understand why he'd said what he'd just said, and he knew that if she asked for an explanation, he would be obligated to give it to her.

"I thought you loved me."

_I do, _he thought. _I love you more than you could possibly know, and that is why I have to do this. _

He couldn't find the words to answer her, and he wished she would just go so he could begin to pick up the pieces of his own heart where she couldn't see.

"Tom?"

"You shouldn't be down here, m'lady," he said, holding her gaze, long enough that she could see the cold warning in his eyes, though he knew she would see through him and find the injury that he struggled to hide. "Dr. Clarkson'll be looking for you, I'm sure."

It was never meant to be.

People like her didn't love people like him, it was as simple as that.

"But Tom-"

"Mr. Branson," he corrected, "m'lady."

She took a deep breath. Tears were pooling in the corners of her eyes, but she kept her head high and her lips pressed together in a stern line, looking just like her eldest sister- if Lady Mary was shorter and would deign to wear a nurse's uniform. "Of course," she said, her tone as hollow as his was cold. "Forgive me for taking too much of your time, Mr. Branson."

With that, she turned and left, her pace brisk and efficient, nothing like the loose, loping strides that he knew her to walk with.

_Oh, you did take up my time, _he thought, turning away from the entrance to the garage and staring blankly at the brick wall. _But it was time spent in Paradise, and I wouldn't change it for all the world, even if it's all a memory now._

* * *

**A/N: Thank you so much for reading, and I hope you enjoyed it! **

**There will be more chapters on the way, and a resolution of sorts, I promise. All is not lost, but there must be darkness before the dawn- I think we as a fandom know this by now. **

**Please leave a review, let me know how I did, and thank you for reading! **


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Just when you thought that was the end of it, there was this chapter. And there will be more chapters in the future. **

**Disclaimer: I don't own _Downton Abbey_. **

**Enjoy. **

* * *

As Sybil made her way back up to the house, every word from the last five minutes played over and over in her head, and she let it, hoping that the repetition might afford her some clarity.

"_We can't see each other anymore, m'lady."_

His words had been cold, so cold that just recalling them sent a shiver through Sybil's body. She'd never heard him speak like that- even when he was upset, Tom's voice was always even, if a little clipped, but never cold, especially never when he addressed her.

And when he'd pried her arms from around him, resorting to gentle force instead of asking her to let him go, when he knew she would have more than willingly obliged, she felt her stomach twist with uncertainty, then drop. His movements, while gentle, were deliberate, frantic almost, as if touching her caused him pain.

"_I don't understand." _

It was true, that she didn't understand why all of a sudden he decided that their trysts had to end. Why? Did he think this was a game for her, and he'd been willing to play along if only to humor his employer's daughter?

She saw the look in his eyes, just like the one he'd given her when she'd said that England wasn't exactly at its best. It was the look that reminded her how very little she knew about the world he came from, where it was almost literally dog-eat-dog, especially compared to the sheltered life she'd been born into as the daughter of an earl.

"_I thought you loved me." _

He'd promised he would wait forever- that was how much he loved her. Against all odds, he loved her. Even though her "kind" was determined to keep his countrymen and his country underfoot, he loved her. Even though she was careless with her words more often than she was careful with them, he loved her.

And she loved him.

So why the sudden declaration that they couldn't see each other anymore?

No one knew about them, so there wasn't any danger. They were careful- no one would catch them, she was certain of it.

"_Tom?" _

Sybil hated herself for the impatience in her voice, impatience that reminded her of Mary's frigid demeanor and the supercilious attitude that was hers and every other lady's her age. Sybil and Tom were equals-all men were created equal in God's eyes, at least that's what Reverend Travis said- and they were in love. She would never dream of using such a tone when she spoke with him, because she had no reason to convey that she was somewhere higher in the world by miracle of birth. When they were together, the ground underneath their feet was even and firm, and even when he was the one driving her to the village hospital, they spoke as if they were standing on that equal footing.

"_You shouldn't be down here, m'lady."_

Oh, but she should! He'd sent for her by way of a note slipped into her apron pocket by one of the younger nurses, who must've offered to take it to her out of kindness or obedience- Sybil couldn't care less about which of the two had conveyed Tom's message to her- so surely she was supposed to be down at the garage. Why wouldn't she be? She couldn't very well meet him in the servants' hall, or in the parlor, or (and her father would have a heart attack if he knew) in her bedroom, could she?

"_Dr. Clarkson'll be looking for you, I'm sure." _

Ah, yes.

Dr. Clarkson.

Didn't Tom know her well enough to know that she wouldn't abandon her shift, not unless it was an absolute emergency? So why had he used the major (she didn't bother correcting Tom's mistake- she thought of Clarkson as a doctor and not a major herself often enough that it wasn't anything worth fussing over) as a way to get her to leave? Did he want her gone that badly?

"_But Tom-" _

He'd cut her off, so boldly too, and her heart ached at the increasingly apparent chill in his words.

"_Mr. Branson, m'lady." _

"M'lady" was punctuated with a subtle venom that tightened the knot that was her stomach, and Sybil had to do everything in her power to keep from crying. If that was how he wanted to play at it, fine, she would play along. She'd watched Mary enough to know how to play the part she had always thought of as the Snow Queen, like the Hans Christian Andersen story. It wouldn't be too hard.

"_Of course."_

The cold certainty she'd been aiming for came out cold and hollow- not really what she'd been going for, but it was something, wasn't it? Perhaps it impressed him, and this was what he wanted, to see that she could be uncaring, or at least act the part.

But why should she act for him?

Acting was lying, and lying was what destroyed precarious relationships like theirs.

Perhaps if she showed him the truth, and let him see how hurt and confused he'd made her, then things would be resolved.

But he saw a lady where she stood, and she felt she was obliged to convince him that what she wanted was indeed standing there before him.

He didn't want Sybil, or even Nurse Crawley- he wanted Lady Sybil, youngest daughter of the Earl of Grantham. That was who he was expecting, and she might as well deliver, if this was how she was going to be remembered to him.

"_Forgive me for taking too much of your time, Mr. Branson." _

Her words came out in her sister's high-and-mighty, clipped tone this time, and Sybil felt an odd strength surge through her, lifting her chin and holding back her tears. She was a lady, and ladies did not cry in front of chauffeurs, even if only five minutes ago, they had been a young woman and a man so desperately in love that they would take the stars from the sky and rewrite their destiny if it came to that.

She was a lady, and she would bear it as such, with grace, poise, and dignity. She would bear this encounter in secret, and continue on with her nursing duties, finally able to throw herself into her work more fully without Tom's constant objections to the war rolling around her head like marbles in a cup. She could fully commit herself to what she believed to be her calling in life- God's calling to her, if she was so bold to say so.

She could do it, she was certain- all she had to do was walk away.

And that's just what she did.

She turned on the ball of her foot, took a deep breath of the damp fall air, and began the trek back to the house.

* * *

**A/N: I hope you enjoyed this installment of _Is It Written in the Stars? _and I hope you take a moment to drop a review, let me know how much you hate me for the feels I am apparently causing a few of you, or just let me know if I'm doing my job. **

**I should've mentioned before, that this entire fic was inspired by the song "_Written in the Stars_" from _AIDA _(music and lyrics by Elton John), and I recommend that soundtrack to anyone who's looking for some good Sybil/Tom songs (or just pairings in general) to inspire them. **

**Thank you all so much! **


	3. Chapter 3

Tom didn't watch her go.

He heard her, her footsteps slow at first, then breaking into a run, like the quick pitter-patter of rain on a tin roof.

_That wasn't so hard, was it? _he asked himself, his eyes darting around for something to do, anything to busy his mind enough that he didn't think about Sybil.

_Lady Sybil, _he corrected himself. _Not Sybil. Never Sybil. Always "Lady Sybil." _

She wasn't a part of his life anymore, and he had better start acting like it. Life went on, and so would he. He would survive this.

Compared to the death of his cousin a few months ago at the start of the Easter Rising, this was nothing, just a small pinprick, really. She was a stranger, and Garrett...well Garrett was family. It was totally different, that kind of loss.

_Don't go dwelling on those things. _

It wouldn't do for him to dwell- he needed to make a plan. Should he stay, and make a show of how indifferent he now was towards Lady Sybil? Or should he go, and take up work back in Ireland, where he could witness his country make its history more closely than he could here? There was no doubt that he would be able to find work- there was a paper that had advertised an open position or two, which he'd written to and received a reply no less than a week ago, so that was always an option- and he had more friend there than he had here, that was for certain.

And who knew?

Maybe he'd find someone he loved as much as (_Don't say her name, don't even think it_)...her…(_There you go. Closer to being free of _her) and maybe she would be someone he could actually be with, within the realm of possibility. Perhaps they'd settle down, have a child or two, live happily ever after in a way he never could with _her. _

"That's it then," he said to the empty garage, rather pleased with how quickly that decision had been made.

He'd wait a month or two, so perhaps _she_ wouldn't blame herself, and then he'd hand in his notice and be on his way to Dublin to pursue the life he'd always dreamed about, the life of a journalist. It was a perfect plan, and to think the only thing keeping him in England was a woman- Kieran would laugh and give him a good-natured, brotherly smack upside the head for being so silly, and his mother would likely laugh too, same as his friends. They'd all think it rather silly, and he would laugh with them, and curse his own foolishness.

In the meantime, he'd write to the paper, tell them that he would take the job, though he'd have to wait to be free of his current one, and hope that they were still willing to hire him. If not, well, he could always find work at the Guinness Brewery in Dublin, though he'd like to avoid that if at all possible. He wanted to move forwards, and while a job at the brewery wasn't backwards, per se, it wasn't as forward as he knew he could go. All he had to do was try, and he would get to where he wanted to go.

_And to think all you needed to do was to let go of _her, he thought. _You could've been free of this place long ago, in time to help with the Easter Rising, if you planned right. _


End file.
